Vengeance Diaries
by kaleidoscopeepocsodielak
Summary: Matt and Tyler have suffered through the supernatural developments in Mystic Falls, and now they have allied with each other in order to fight back against the forces which plague them. Will they be able to survive? Will something more come of their alliance? Eventual slash. Matt/Tyler (Please Review)
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

 _You have to kill someone._

Those were the words that stuck with Tyler every day. He regretted ever having asked his dearly departed uncle about "triggering" the curse. Mason had even warned him, but dim, head-strong Tyler Lockwood just had to know right then. Had he never known of this trigger, would he have ever become a wolf? It was a question for philosophers, or at least one that only served as a catalyst for headaches.

In all his imaginings of what it would be like to be human again, he had never dared to hope that it could actually happen. Good things don't happen in Mystic Falls. He had seen enough evidence of that ever since the Salvatores had come to stay. Yet it had happened. True, the circumstances of reclaiming his humanity seemed convoluted, if not farcical. That did not change facts. For about a year, he was human again, living the dream he had so often believed impossible. The fear of losing this gift, however, kept him from truly enjoying it.

 _You have to kill someone._

The words echoed through his brain every day once more. Even being with Olivia had not been the comfort it should have been. Every move he made, every spurt of anger he felt…it all could lead to the return of the werewolf curse. Then he would have to shift into a wolf every month, a process which broke every bone in his body every time. It was not the sort of thing any rational mind would wish upon its body. So he trembled at the thought of accidentally cutting short another's mortal coil. And of course, living in Mystic Falls meant that one day it was almost certain to happen.

 _You have to kill someone._

They were the words he thought as he lay dying at Alaric's wedding. It was his instinctual self-preservation making the demand, but he refused to let that happen. How could he justify ending someone else in order to keep his own miserable life? It was bad enough that he had already murdered others under Klaus's compulsion. There had to come a point where all the collateral damage he caused would outweigh the importance of his own survival.

"You have to kill someone," Olivia had said as she bled out next to him. "Kill me and you'll heal."

It was an impossible request. If he did kill Olivia, for what purpose would he live? He insisted as much when he refused. It was poetic, in its own way, to die beside the woman one loves. Jin had done it in that television show _Lost_. Those characters from _The Notebook_ had managed to do so as well. But life was not a sappy Nicholas Sparks novel any more than it was a mysterious island. In Mystic Falls, you either died or watched helplessly as your loved ones bit the proverbial bullet. The two events never coincided.

Reluctant and ashamed, Tyler Lockwood killed someone. It was not just any someone either. Regret took hold of him even as the wounds healed his body. His werewolf ears began working at the exact moment they would have been unable to hear her heart beating. Surveying the damage done at the Saltzman Wedding Massacre, Tyler noted that he had not been the only one to lose his loved one. Alaric held his bride's lifeless form as blood stained her dress crimson.

Months later, living alone in the woods, he would continue to mourn his loss. His heart could not repair itself, for it was not a mere physical injury. So the diseased organ afflicted him every day for a span of full moons. He did not bother to count them, for looking to the future no longer mattered. Nothing mattered. How could anything matter when Olivia was gone?

 _I have to kill someone._

Wishing the hated Syphoner was breathing once more just so he could rip out the psycho's throat, he meditated on these words as he sat idly in his new residence, an abandoned cabin. There seemed to be an overabundance of such lodgings in or around Mystic Falls. Most likely, this could be attributed to all the prevalent supernatural killings. An unsuspecting homeowner would go out one night only to have his life sucked out through the neck after chancing upon one sadistic vampire or other. Presumably, the late owner of this home had been into deer hunting and wearing plaid, for the antlers were mounted to the walls, and the closets were filled with clothing one would associate with a certain assistant on a fictional home improvement show. There were no pictures, so Tyler could only imagine Richard Karn having been the unfortunate soul.

There was a knock on his door.

At first, Tyler believed it must have been his imagination. Who would be out in the middle of nowhere knocking at a house where no one lived? But the insistent pounding shook him from his self-loathing. Setting aside a three-quarters empty bottle of cheap wine, he staggered to his feet. The one intruding on his solitude continued to assault the door until Tyler reached for the knob and pulled open the entryway.

Standing on the porch was a blond man wearing a uniform of some kind. It might have been a police officer. Tyler could not be sure, for the clothes were drenched in blood. The red liquid had dried onto the man's hands, neck, and chin as well. His eyes, pink and puffy, appeared to be out of tears to shed despite the man's best efforts. When Tyler at last recognized his visitor, he wondered why it had taken so long. The two had been best friends since fifth grade.

"Matt?" Tyler greeted. "What are you…"

"They're all dead," Matthew Donovan stated, staring right past Tyler's face.

"Who's dead?"

"Everyone. All of them."

"All of who? Caroline? Bonnie?" Caroline's voice corrected him in his head, "whom" being the appropriate word choice.

Matt shook his head, apparently agitated that Tyler had not grasped his meaning. "You should have been there."

"Where?"

"Graduation."

Tyler's mind turned immediately to high school, something he had finished and left behind years ago. That could not possibly be what Matt meant, however, so he scraped the alcohol-soaked dregs of his brain to find the answer. He must have meant the police graduation. The dress uniform should have been a major clue, but Tyler had never been destined for the detective's life. It wasn't that thinking was too difficult for him as Damon would have claimed, but fitting seemingly disparate pieces of information together was not a natural talent of his.

"Tell me what happened," Tyler said.

"You're drunk," Matt observed, his tone venom-imbued.

"Well, that's a way of life when every woman you love dies at the hands of monsters," Tyler replied.

Tyler noticed his friend's hands balling up into fists and heard heart beats moving at a quickened rate, as if spiked with adrenaline. On pure werewolf instinct, Tyler leapt into the air over Matt's head, somersaulted, and held the blond in a perfect headlock. Matt cried out in surprise.

"Don't even think about it, Donovan," Tyler urged. "You may have been the quarterback, but that doesn't make you invulnerable. I have ripped hearts from the chests of creatures fifteen times as powerful as Chuck Norris. So when I warn you against trying anything like that again, believe me when I tell you I will leave you with twelve broken bones before you can even blink."

Matt gasped for air. After conceding to Tyler's terms, the graduated police officer pleaded for release. Only too willing to accommodate, the werewolf dropped his hold and invited his friend inside. Tyler offered his guest some wine, which Matt accepted after learning rum and tequila were unavailable. The two imbibed silently until they had each drained the rest of Tyler's merlot.

"Now would you please explain to me what happened?" Tyler requested. "As you'll recall, I don't live close enough to hear all the latest gossip."

"The heretics who came back from that prison world with…"

"Don't say his name!"

Matt stopped short, cowed by his friend's scream. Meekly, he objected, "He wasn't Voldemort."

"Just get on with it."

"We were graduating from training today, and the heretics…they killed everyone. Everyone who trained with us is dead. So is the chief of police and just about every other officer on the Mystic Falls force."

Tyler walked to his refrigerator and pulled out another bottle of merlot and uncorked it with ease. Pouring himself a glass, he wondered aloud why Matt had chosen to come after these tragic events.

"I thought…maybe…maybe you'd help me bring them all to justice."

"Why?"

"They were your friends too!"

"Friends? I barely even knew them. Based on previous experience with Mystic Falls' finest, I knew not to get attached. I was only friends with you because…well…we already were."

"Please, Tyler."

Matt flashed his sad puppy-dog eyes, a trick to which Tyler was immune given his own canine attributes. The werewolf sipped his wine rather than replying.

"I've lost…I've lost everything, Tyler. Please. Just help me."

"You lost everything?" Tyler fumed. "You?! Did you have to smother the breath out of your dying girlfriend? Did your mother die in your arms? Because, I only remember that happening to me."

"I get it. You're a bigger loser than me. Your penis is probably bigger too. But that doesn't really matter, does it? I have no one. Elena's gone. Vicki. Jeremy. They're all gone. How am I supposed to survive on my own? The Salvatores don't give two shits about whether I live. Bonnie's too interested in her own witchy business. Caroline does whatever Stephan tells her. Alaric is Damon's drinking buddy. Enzo has actually put my life at risk just for shits and giggles. That leaves you. We are all that we have, Tyler. So are you going to help me or not?"

Tyler considered his friend for a moment. "You're right."

Matt examined him quizzically.

"My penis is bigger than yours."

The two chuckled as if they were back in high school.

"So what do you want me to do?" Tyler asked.

"You have to kill someone," Matt answered. "Five someones, to be exact."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

 _Dear Elena,_

 _Since you were put in that coffin all those months ago, I've got to tell you that Mystic Falls has gone to Hell faster than I could ever have expected. I mean, the town was already in terrible shape from all the vamps in town. Not that I'm saying you were a terrible person as a vampire. But becoming one seemed to give you the excuse to do horrible things. I know this sounds real judge-y, but I've never been the best at hiding my true feelings, have I?_

 _Stephan and Caroline are still pining for each other, but neither one is making a move yet, mainly because Caroline can't touch another vampire thanks to her vervain skin. I don't know what's up with Alaric because he, Damon, and Bonnie have formed their own band of musketeers, and I'm not invited. So now that I'm the lone human living in my hometown, I have no idea what my whole life is about. What am I supposed to do with myself?_

 _I guess that's something I've been trying to figure out for the last six plus years. It probably sounds like something some bad actor would say on the cw, but I need to find out who I'm supposed to be. My life can't be one pawn sacrifice after another. At least, that's what I'm hoping._

 _But I haven't even gotten to the worst part yet. I am the only surviving police officer in town. Given the town's history of short lifespans for officers of the law, I'm pretty certain my life will be ending any day now. Who knows, though? I may beat the odds. I mean, I've managed to stay alive without losing my humanity longer than anyone else in our clique. Plus, I now have an ally in my fight against the heretics…_

"What are you doing?" Tyler asked.

Matt Donovan sat at the desk which had belonged to Sheriff Mills. The sudden inquiry snapped him out of deep thought. Dropping the pen, he glanced up at Tyler before breathing a relieved sigh. "Writing a letter," Matt replied.

"Who are you writing to?"

"Whom."

"Shut up."

"It's for Elena."

"Why would you write to her?" Tyler asked. "You're not still in love with her, are you?"

Blushing, Matt failed at pretending not to care about his friend's impertinence. "Caroline asked me to do this, okay?"

"Ah. So it's Caroline you still fancy."

"No…When she asks you to do something like this…I don't know, it's like she's making an offer you can't refuse."

Tyler's arrogant smirk aggravated Matt. "You're telling me that you are afraid of a 130-pound cheerleader?"

"It isn't as simple as all that," Matt argued. "She has the strength of a vampire, which I could never match unless I somehow turned into a were-panther or something."

"A were-panther?" Tyler said, guffawing. "You've been watching True Blood, haven't you?"

There were times Matt wished he had not opened his mouth. It usually led to someone, usually Damon, calling him out as less than intelligent. While his brains had never been his greatest asset, they weren't completely lacking. Thanks to his superior attendance, he had actually surpassed Elena's GPA during senior year. But catching a case of foot-in-mouth disease made him forget all that. Moments like these reminded him how few people bothered to take him seriously. _Perhaps they're right_ , he thought.

"I get enough bloodthirsty vampires in real life. I don't need naked ones terrorizing my dreams."

"You kidding? Have you not seen Debra Ann Woll's…" Tyler caressed invisible breasts as he spoke.

"No." He knew he had spoken too adamantly as soon as the one-word answer left his lips. Most men his age would never deny admiring a beautiful woman's anatomy, with the caveat that no female was present to hear such a lecherous statement. In the few seconds following Matt's snappy denial, his attempts at backpedaling sounded like a strange mixture of a babbling brook and an excited beaver squeaking as it swam to shore.

Tyler laughed in his throat. "I didn't catch all that."

Deciding not to rise to his friend's bait, Matt returned his focus to the notebook with his unfinished letter. Clicking the black Paper Mate pen a dozen times in a row, he attempted to recall his intended next lines. He frowned as he reread his previous paragraphs and tapped his fingers nervously on the metal spiral. Somehow the interruption had derailed his train so thoroughly, he began to wonder if his mind had the budget to buy a new one. Setting the tip of his pen against paper, he readied himself to write the first word that came to mind. Instead, he drew an unintended squiggle when he realized someone was standing directly behind him, staring over his shoulder.

"Dear Elena," Tyler read aloud in a mocking falsetto, "Since you were put in that coffin all those months ago, I haven't gotten over my fantasy of having sex in one."

Matt hastily lifted his notebook and flipped the front cover over so that Tyler would only be able to see the solid green cover and the words "college ruled" printed in white. It wasn't the first time something like this had ever happened. Long ago, before Mystic Falls had held a magnetic lock on the crazy, tragic, and supernatural, Matt had often written love notes to Elena. He had then made the error of requesting Tyler read over his work before hiding it in his then-girlfriend's locker. Instead of constructive criticism, he had had to endure a dramatic reading in the voice of a chipmunk.

"You're so sensitive, man!" Tyler said. The werewolf placed his hands on Matt's cringing shoulders and began massaging his friend's muscles. Bending to ear-level, Tyler whispered, "You need to relax."

"How am I supposed to do that?" Matt asked. All the cares of the world seemed to be crushing him, and no one seemed to care or take them seriously.

"Are you saying you need some help relieving the stress?" Tyler continued to rub Matt's shoulders before reaching with his right hand for his friend's pectoral.

Unable to deny that this was helping, Matt sat silently at his desk, enjoying the way Tyler's powerful hands unknotted his muscles. He had not even realized how tensed and painful they had been until he found the misery relieved. The one thing that made this massage unusual was the way Tyler kept breathing heavily right next to his left ear. But what could Matt do? Ask Tyler to stop breathing?

"Feels nice, doesn't it?" Tyler whispered after a few minutes. He shifted his left hand to the corresponding pectoral now, massaging just above Matt's heart. The werewolf's breaths felt closer, wet and warm on the human's neck.

The fingers passed over Matt's nipples, and he gasped as the contact caused them to stiffen. He supposed it had been an accident until Tyler repositioned his fingers to gently squeeze the little lumps on his chest. Looking down at his skin-tight t-shirt, Matt saw how deliberate it had been. He did not have time to respond before Tyler provided yet another shocking stimulus. Soft lips pressed against Matt's neck one moment, followed by a feeling of suction the next. Tyler's right hand continued to twist at Matt's nipple while the left hand began rubbing abdominals.

Lost in the feeling, Matt heard a low moaning sound coming from his own mouth. For about a half minute, he forgot who it was that was touching him in this intimate fashion. No one, not even Rebekah, had ever drawn out such pleasure from him. There was simply no way it could be alpha-male Tyler, who had gotten into every cheerleader's skirts back in high school. Only once a hand caressed a growth below his belt did his mind begin to realize what was happening.

In an instant, Matt yelped and rocketed from his seat, sending an unbalanced Tyler backwards, onto his rump. His eyes a swirling mix of confusion and fear, Matt could do naught but point at his friend and stammer unintelligibly. "What…I-I-I-d-d…were you just…w-w-I-I…"

Tyler chuckled and said, "You always did have a way with words."

Matt ruffled his hands through his hair, frustrated he could not find the proper, offended tirade that should have been at the tip of his tongue. And speaking of tips, why was the one in his pants pressing so hard against the latex of his compression shorts? And why did his neck feel like someone had jammed a toothpick in that one spot below his ear?

He wanted to run away, but Matt's legs appeared to have lost the power to do anything besides prevent him from falling down. His hand clasped the stinging spot on his neck and discovered a slobbery surprise.

"Did you give me a hickey?" Matt at last managed to ask. "What the hell, Tyler?"

"Are you honestly going to tell me that none of that was relaxing you?" Tyler countered, avoiding the question entirely.

"Do I look relaxed right now?"

"Part of you," Tyler commented, pointing up at the junction of Matt's legs.

"This isn't a good joke, Tyler," Matt insisted, hopeful that was all this had been.

Tyler's expression flickered between amusement and genuine interest. The brunette picked himself off the ground and asked a question which embarrassed Matt even further. "When was the last time anyone coaxed a little juice outta lil' Matt?"

Pinching himself only proved that he was either awake or in a rather convincing dream. Matt liked neither option. "What's your point? Just because I haven't had anyone in the last two years means I'm going to hop in the sack with the first person keen on me? What kind of porno fantasy are you living in?"

"Two years?" Tyler repeated and then whistled. "With all that time of non-use, aren't you curious to know if it still works?"

"NO!" Matt screamed. It was far too strong a denial, worthy of that famous line from Hamlet were he female. "I came here to plan a way to take revenge on those psychopathic heretics, and all you do is-is-is…try to…what were you doing? Seducing me or planning to post a video to some amateur site? I can tell you this much right now. It's. Never. Going. To. Happen."

"Why can't we do both?"

"You are NOT posting video of me to the fucking Internet!"

Tyler stifled a laugh behind his right hand. "No, no, no. I don't go in for that sort of kinky business. I meant why can't we take revenge and find additional benefits to our friendship."

"Un-fucking-believable," Matt muttered. He finally managed the strength to walk himself to the door. He slammed it behind him, only to reenter the cabin a moment later to retrieve his notebook.


End file.
